Grief In Two Parts
by Mindless Creations
Summary: Grief is in two parts. The first is loss. The second is the remaking of life - Anne Roiphe. In coming face to face with Gibbs' mortality, Ziva is forced to reflect on her own buried emotions. Based on the Season 3 finale - Hiatus, Parts 1 & 2
1. Part I

***This is a two-part short story and I am posting both chapters together, so be sure to click on chapter 2.**

**Writing Fire and Ice means that I'm watching quite a bit of NCIS season 3. I had forgotten how rigid Ziva was in the beginning, how detached she often appeared and the obvious and sometimes overlooked tension/jealousy between her and Abby. **

**This story is set around the season 3 finale, Hiatus Parts 1 and 2 where Gibbs is injured by an explosion and loses his memory. Watching the early scene between her and Ducky in particular, prompted this short piece of writing. I've also combined this with the knowledge we now have about Ziva writing in a journal following the season 16 episode "She". **

**This is quite different to what I normally write, so I hope you enjoy. **

_**PS – For those who are following Fire and Ice, the next chapter is almost finished and will be posted soon. As a heads up, it's based on the season three episode "Family Secret" which is episode 16. If you have this season on DVD or can access Netflix, I highly recommend you watch this episode. It has some great 'Jibbs' moments and will give a background understanding to the next chapter. **_

**Grief, in two parts - Part I**

_Grief is in two parts. _

_The first is loss. _

_The second is the remaking of life. _

_Anne Roiphe__  
_

Today was not a good day….

Well, to be precise, the last 28 hours have not been good. One moment Tony, Tim and I were sitting in the car, the next….well, the next minute, all hell broke loose.

The explosion was unexpected. I do not like 'unexpected'. I like to know what is happening, be in control, take charge. Maybe that is why I went into automatic training. I am Israeli after all. I certainly know my way around a suicide bomber.

Maybe a little too much.

No, I am not ready to go there yet. I am not ready to face those shadows.

The explosion, yes that is where I will focus. The others do not know what passes through my mind. I shut it off when I am around them. That may have been why Ducky was so frustrated with my answers to his questions regarding Gibbs' welfare. But, as I told him, once the paramedics arrived, I had other priorities. I had to check the possibility of more bombs, I had to detain the crew, I had to secure the crime scene.

The crime scene…

More like a blood bath.

The floor and walls were awash with bodily fluids, most of it blood. Pieces of flesh, unrecognisable body parts. All were typical for this type of scenario. Also typical was the charred remains of what had once been a living human being. A man who, for reasons unknown, had chosen to end his life in the most horrific of ways. How old had he been? I had seen them as young as twelve. Mere children, trained to sacrifice their life for the cause. Uncaring of how many they take with them. The more killed, the better. Choosing locations that will create the biggest impact. A synagogue, a shopping mall, a market-place…

But this was different. Here the suicide bomber had only appeared to have one target in mind. As I had surveyed the scene, I had been forced to consider if some of the pieces of flesh littered around me belonged to Gibbs.

Gibbs….

I have had leaders before; handlers for missions but none have been like Leroy Jethro Gibbs. He is unique. I can see why Jenny loved him. I love him too. Not in the same way, of course.

No….for me Gibbs is like a father. The kind of father I have only read about in stories for, certainly, there is no comparison to my reality of a father.

Gibbs is quiet, my reality was loud.

Gibbs is gentle, my reality was rough.

Gibbs is kind, my reality was cruel.

Gibbs is loving, my reality was not.

The reality was too much…

I could not focus on what had happened to the only man I truly trusted with my life. How could I? I couldn't even look at him when the paramedics carried him out. I was afraid. Yes, I will admit that on this page but never to my co-workers. My only solace was the speed at which the paramedics were carrying him away. Speed meant there was a sense of urgency and urgency meant he was still alive.

Unlike…. her

Ducky assumed I didn't care. Oh, I know he tried to tell me otherwise but that was the truth of the matter. He was wrong. So wrong. I did care. More than anyone could have ever known.

I was told to photograph the crime scene. Did Tony have any idea what that truly meant? I was forever capturing the moment Gibbs' life exploded with that bomb. I was creating a permanent record of where his blood was spilled, where fragments of his skin were ripped from his body.

And, if Gibbs were to die, were these to be the last recorded pictures of a man who had spent his life serving and protecting others?

And, then, came the rain….

The clear, cleansing rain.

I watched it as it landed on the port holes and drizzled down the glass. It was as though the whole ship were crying. The rain was doing what I could not.

It had rained for her too. Just enough to wash away her blood, erase all trace of her from the market place. I had smiled for that rain too. She would not want to be remembered as a victim and the rain had ensured that would not be the case.

And, then, I had been forced to face Abby…

Over reactive, child-like Abby. Most days I can cope with her but not today. Today, her need to be coddled and reassured aggravated me. We all had a job to do. When something like this happens, there is no time for reassurances or cossetting. One must focus on the task at hand and solve the case.

But not Abby.

I know she is Gibbs' favourite and, for the most part, that does not bother me. She is not, however, the baby as she is so determined to play. She is only a few months younger than Tony. It is I, in fact, who is entitled to that label. But, unlike Abby, it is not something for which I wish to be known. For, in many ways, I feel so much older than the other three. I have seen and experienced things I would not wish on anyone. Things that Abby would never cope with.

And, so, today she made me angry. Gibbs was relying on her to solve this case. There was no time for grief or sorrow. That could come later. Yet, all she was concerned with was finding out how Gibbs was faring.

Of course, we all wanted to hear that Gibbs was fine. But the man had nearly lost his life. His body was in shock. His brain needed rest. I could understand the need for him to be in that coma.

She assumed I did not care.

Just like Ducky.

And, just like Ducky, she had assumed incorrectly.

I should not have slapped her. It was wrong and reactionary. Yes, she slapped me first and, maybe I had deliberately baited her but I still should not have slapped her back. I have been trained to be better than that.

And yet, what neither she nor Tim knew, was, that slap was the first indication of true emotion from me. Unlike Abby, I could not cry. No matter how hard I tried, I could not cry.

I have been taught to ignore my own emotions. My feelings are unimportant. My focus must always be on the work. Therefore, in slapping Abby, I had betrayed my Mossad training. I had shown weakness. Anger became my tears.

Tears…

In this country they are regarded as cleansing, healing. Tears are useless. They achieve nothing and serve only to waste time. How many times have I been forced to endure pain so as to prove I have control over any tears? But my time with these people, in this land of the free, is turning me soft. I have been weakened by their kindness, their generosity.

And yet, despite knowing this, I could not shed a single tear for this man who had taught me about love.

I tried.

I honestly did.

I went into the bathroom and splashed water on my face. If I stared hard enough into the mirror, I could pretend I was crying. I could watch the water trickle down my face and try to convince myself they were genuine tears. But they were not…

Instead, I saved my tears and released my emotion in anger. Anger at Abby, anger at Tony and anger at _Capitan Mahir_, the Captain of the ship.

_Capitan Mahir_…

Yes, he deserved my anger. For men such as him are like the dirt beneath my feet. I would gladly have put a bullet in his head. But we needed his help to solve this case. That did not, however, stop me from spitting out my hatred towards him. He is nothing but a swine who profits on the death of others.

Oh, he sat there and denied being a terrorist. Denied smuggling weapons into Palestine, denied working for the Jihad. But I know his kind.

It is men like him who are paid to look the other way.

It is men like him who ignore those who are determined to take and destroy innocent lives.

It is men like him who smuggled Hamas suicide bombers into the port of Ashdod.

It is men like him who are the reason I no longer have a sister…

I wanted nothing more than to spill his blood all over that interrogation room. But, again, I was forced to quell my emotions.

Instead, I used what I had learned from Gibbs. I listened to this man, played to his weaknesses. Kept my emotions in check and worked through the evidence. And, because of that, it was this man who helped us identify the bomber.

Gibbs would be proud.

If only he were in a position to tell me so…

No…. Today was not a good day.


	2. Part II

**Grief In Two Parts - Part II**

Today was a good day.

Today I smiled.

Today my father truly awoke, hugged me and wiped away my tears.

Yes, those tears I was so determined not to shed, finally fell in cascading rivulets down my cheeks.

I cried for Gibbs…

I cried for Tali….

I cried for Ari….

But, mostly, I cried for the small child who had been taken by a cruel man she called her Abba, and forced to live a life of sacrifice and pain.

My tears were real.

My tears were healing.

As Gibbs held me close, I cried for all that had been lost.

And, when I had finished crying, I smiled.

Smiled for the future I now had thanks to this gruff and grumpy man I am honoured to call my father.

Yes…. Today was a good day.


End file.
